


the perfect storm

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Boys In Love, Comfort, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Heartbeat Kink, Heartbeats, Intimacy, Kink Exploration, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Not Season/Series 08 Compliant, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Sleepy Sex, comfort kink, thats a thing because i say so, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21725956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Keith’s never wanted to test fate and find out if the things he wants are too much for Shiro, thought he could spend the rest of his life ignoring the quiet voice in his heart—the one that rattles against his ribcage desperate to be let out. Desperate to be seen. But he was wrong. Shiro’s looking and Keith never wants him to stop.Now that he’s let it out, he doesn’t think he can take it back—doesn’t want to.Desire rages inside of Keith, swirling and crackling with fury—ready to make landfall. The only thing left to be seen is if Shiro’s going to find beauty in his storm, or get burned.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 345





	the perfect storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sainnis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sainnis/gifts).



> This is a gift fic for starlitruns who is wonderful and deserves all the things including the world's softest heartbeat kink fic). I felt incredibly vulnerably and exposed writing this and pretty much drowned in sheith feelings so uh...I hope everyone likes it and i'll go hide now.
> 
> thank you whiskyandwildflowers for the incredibly swift beta you are invaluable in all ways and ilu.

It’s the sound of silence that does it. One minute Keith is sound asleep and the next he’s sitting up in bed, heart rattling around in his chest with all the intensity of a solar storm. 

He attempts to steady his breathing—one deep breath in, one slow breath out—as his eyes adjust to the dark. The war is over. He’s on Atlas. Everything is okay. Beside him Shiro slumbers peacefully—dark eyelashes fanned against his cheeks and his mouth open. Safe. He’s safe. They’re both safe.

_And yet._

As if Atlas is aware of his change in alertness, the small row of lights that line the far wall of Shiro’s quarters flicker on bathing the room in a soft warm glow. Despite this, his instincts still scream at him to retrieve his knife from the drawer in the bedside table and hop out of bed to roam the perimeter. Keith fights against them knowing they’re safe. They’ve been safe for a long time now. If only Keith’s sleep-addled brain could do a better job of remembering that.

“Baby? “ Shiro murmurs, voice heavy with sleep as he flings out an arm. Instead of curling around Keith it lands on top of the empty space behind him. Shiro’s displeasure is evident in the tiny huff he makes, and Keith can imagine the pout that is probably forming on his face right now.

A stab of guilt assaults Keith. Shiro’s been working so hard the last few weeks—refusing to say no to anyone who wants his help or advice even to the detriment of his own health, and working himself to the point of complete and utter exhaustion to ensure other people have what they need. It’d taken every bit of persuasion Keith possessed to convince Shiro to come back early last night. He needs his sleep. He deserves it. And Keith is ruining it.

“Sorry,” Keith whispers, falling back onto the pillow. “Go back to sleep.”

“Nightmare?” Shiro asks softly, inching closer and ignoring Keith’s instructions. 

Shiro’s bare thigh brushes up against Keith’s, and a shiver races up his spine at the contact. It’s not even sexual, at least not right now. He’s still too keyed up. But there’s a bone-deep sense of comfort at the closeness of Shiro’s bare body so close to his own. It’s another thing he’s not used to—not sure if he will ever be used to. It’s only been a few weeks since their first kiss and Keith’s lost count of how many times he’s woken up thinking he dreamt it all. The touches, the kisses, the sex, the cuddling and laughter—it’s everything Keith’s ever wanted. _Everything_. 

He can’t help but wonder when he’s going to stop waking up terrified of losing it all—of losing Shiro.

Keith’s already lost him so many times, in so many ways. The possibilities of it happening again are infinite, and Keith lives in daily fear of that. Maybe Keith will lose him to the universe—to the citizens of Earth and space alike who are all so desperate for his confident leadership and steady support they take advantage of his goodness. Or it could be something he doesn’t see coming, an unseen threat that will take from him the one thing he knows he cannot lose. Or maybe, maybe it’ll be Keith’s fault entirely. Maybe one day his selfish desire to have Shiro all to himself for the rest of time will overwhelm Shiro—maybe his love will be too much and not enough all once.

“No,” Keith answers. It’s not a lie. At least he doesn’t think so. He doesn’t remember a nightmare. Just remembers darkness and silence— _panic_.

Shiro grunts, scooting as close as possible then rolling from his side to his back. His eyes are heavy lidded, movements slow as he lifts up the blanket with his prosthetic to make it easier for Keith to inch closer, then silently pats his chest with his left hand in a silent invitation.

Keith doesn’t hesitate to move, settling his head in the center of Shiro’s firm chest as he wedges a leg between Shiro’s and wraps his arms around Shiro like an octopus. Keith knows Shiro isn’t going anywhere, but his brain is screaming at him to keep Shiro in bed—to keep him safe.

Shiro is his and Keith doesn’t want to ever let go. Sometimes he finds himself hesitating, anxious that his need to touch and protect will overwhelm Shiro. But the second Shiro gives him the smallest sign it’s welcome, those apprehensions melt away and Keith finds himself latching onto Shiro as he tries to quell the racing of his heart and the fear that he might lose him.

 _Safe,_ Keith reminds himself. They’re both safe.

“Sleep,” Shiro murmurs, tucking the blanket around them and settling his palm on the back of Keith’s head, his thumb stroking across the side of Keith’s cheek. His voice is gravelly with sleep and it’s the nicest sound Keith’s ever heard. He loves the sound of Shiro’s voice, loves everything about him.

Shiro continues his ministrations on Keith’s head, somewhere between a head massage and hair stroking. Keith’s not sure which one it is, he just knows it feels really fucking good to be trapped beneath Shiro’s big hand and strong chest. The effect of Shiro’s close proximity on his nerves is instantaneous. The knots of tension in Keith’s shoulders bleed away,his body physically shuddering with the force of his first good exhale of breath as he allows himself to relax. 

Beneath him Shiro hums softly, obviously contentment with Keith’s weight blanketing him. The pads of his fingers stroking through Keith’s hair and Keith is helpless to do anything but go boneless against Shiro as he focuses on the slow, methodical beat of Shiro’s heart. Shiro hums again and his chest rumbles, the vibrations matching the steady _thump thump_ of Shiro’s heartbeat. It’s slow and relaxed from sleep, and Keith hones in on the rhythm like a beacon.

Keith takes a breath, surprised to find that it comes easily. No tightness in his chest, no rattling in his lungs. Just slow, easy breathing as Shiro’s fingers work through his mess of bedhead.

 _Thump, thump_. Keith closes his eyes, the cadence of Shiro’s heartbeat steadying his frayed nerves.

 _Thump, thump_. Keith closes his eyes, body going lax. He might be small but he knows he’s heavy,his body all muscle. But Shiro’s strong, he can take Keith’s full weight. It’s a good feeling to know Shiro can handle him, can handle anything.

Shiro’s heart beats loud and strong, a reminder of the vibrancy of life that courses through his veins—the strength and unbound resilience contained in the body beneath him. Shiro is so strong. So beautiful. And alive. He’s alive. Shiro’s heart has seen so much loss, so much pain and yet still it beats. Every pulse is like a warrior's cry—refusing to give up. Keith listens to it like it’s a song,the rhythm of his pulse weaving a melody that lulls Keith into a state of relaxation. It’s impossible not to match his breathing with the steady pulse of his heartbeat—the warmth of their bare bodies intertwined seeping into his very soul.

 _Thump thump._ Slow, constant, and undeniably strong—Shiro’s heart beats in his chest loud enough that Keith can almost feel the vibrations against his ear that’s pillowed on Shiro’s chest. 

Not for the first time, Keith is made painfully aware of just how much he likes the sound of Shiro’s heart beating, of how affected he feels to hear tangible evidence that Shiro is alive and safe and with him. Granted, the warmth of Shiro’s naked body beneath him is evidence of that too, but there’s something undeniably moving about listening to the sound of Shiro’s life.

Keith’s internal clock isn’t perfect but it’s pretty damn good, which means that if he’s right about the time—and he usually is—it’s maybe four in the morning. It’s an ungodly hour to be awake really, but Keith knows there’s not a chance in hell of him falling back to sleep now. It’s too close to the time he’d normally be waking up. Close and yet still so far away. Not that Keith minds the prospect of hours spent cuddling, of lying in bed warm and content, listening to the sound of Shiro’s slow even breathing and steady heartbeat as Shiro drifts back to sleep.

At least he hopes Shiro will fall back asleep. There’s no point in both of them being exhausted all day.

For a few seconds, Keith thinks maybe Shiro has fallen asleep. His resting heart rate has noticeably slowed into a steady thump, and his body is heavy and lax beneath Keith. The illusion doesn’t last long though because he can feel Shiro’s arm twitch against his lower back. Then the hand on his hair is moving, sliding down the back of Keith’s head to rest at the back of his neck. Shiro brushes away the longer hairs in the back, tracing a circular pattern at the sensitive area where the base of his neck meets his shoulders. He repeats the actions a few times and Keith forgets how to breathe. The touch is innocent but breathtakingly intimate, and Keith aches with want. The idea of sleep has rapidly become a thing of the past.

The only thing Keith wants is Shiro.

The fingers at the base of his neck don’t remain there long, unexpectedly inching sideways to caress the side of Keith’s neck. Shiro drags the tips of his fingers from the side of Keith’s jaw down to the hollow of his collarbone then back up. Keith thinks Shiro’s going to repeat the soothing stroking motion again, but instead he settles two fingertips over the pulse point at the side of Keith’s neck and leaves them there. Keith holds his breath. With Shiro’s fingers pressed against the artery, he’s gotta be able to feel the way Keith’s heart skips a beat for him, has to know the way Shiro’s touch sets Keith aflame. Keith feels laid bare, and it’s somehow the most terrifying and erotic experience of his life.

A hum rattles in Shiro’s chest as his fingers push down, increasing the pressure. Not enough to be uncomfortable but enough for him to really feel the flutter of Keith’s pulse. Keith is helpless to do anything but shiver, an embarrassing whine falling from his lips. 

No one touches him right there. No one but Shiro. 

Keith almost feels guilty that Shiro is so clearly not falling back asleep. Almost, but not quite. Especially not with the pad of Shiro’s forefinger lightly pressing against the pulse point. With the added pressure, Keith is made more aware of his own pulse and the way it flutters erratically at the attention.

He’s not sure if Shiro fully understands why Keith likes it, he’s certainly never said the words _I think I’ve got a heartbeat kink_ out loud. Then again, he’s not one hundred percent sure that’s what it is, since saving the galaxy never left much room for thinking about what types of things might get him hot and bothered. Well, except for Shiro, but that was always a given. It’s entirely possible that he has a heartbeat kink or a Shiro kink, or maybe both. Keith tries not to spend too much time dwelling on the specifics, because it makes him feel hot under the collar and squirmy in his stomach when he does. He’s pretty sure it’s all those things and more, but he doesn’t know how to say any of that out loud. Somehow saying _I love you_ felt universes easier than talking about where or how he wants to be touched. It’s easy when it’s about Shiro. Loving Shiro, giving him what he wants and needs, well, that comes naturally for Keith. But thinking about what _he_ wants and needs is something that Keith is still working on.

As with most things, Shiro is attentive and observant, and despite Keith’s inability to give voice to his desires, it hadn’t taken Shiro long to pick up on the way Keith’s breath hitched and his heart raced when Shiro accidentally paid attention to one of his pulse points. It took Keith an embarrassing amount of time to realize that it’d stopped being an accident a long time ago. That Shiro has picked up on the way Keith likes to listen to the rattle of Shiro’s heartbeat, or have Shiro listen to his.

He can’t even explain why, he just knows it makes his heart race and his palms sweat and every bit of him from his toes to his dick ache with longing when Shiro purposely stops to pay attention to the way Keith’s blood races through his veins.

“You’re not sleeping,” Shiro whispers. His voice is still rough with sleep, but the sluggishness is noticeably absent. 

“No,” Keith answers. There’s no point in lying. Not that he would even if he thought he could get away with it. Not with Shiro.

“Then why are you so far away, sweetheart?”

The words go straight to his gut, his stomach flipping and his heart racing. It’s absolutely fucking obscene the way a few words from Shiro makes Keith feel weak in the knees.

“Am I?” Keith intones, lifting his head to look at Shiro. The calming thud of his heartbeat disappears, but it’s worth it for the soft look on Shiro’s face.

“ _So_ far,” Shiro says seriously, turning his best puppy dog eyes on Keith. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he juts his bottom lip out just a little bit in an unmistakable pout.

Keith wants to scream. 

Shiro is _pouting_. Pouting because he wants Keith who is already naked and basically crushing Shiro to come even closer. 

Shiro is too good to be true, and Keith loves him so much there’s a palpable ache in his chest when he thinks about it. He would fucking die for Shiro and the idea that anyone, in any universe, ever had the audacity to hurt him makes Keith feel crazy. He wants to cry and scream and beat back the world at large with his knife for fear of anyone ever hurting Shiro again. Keith wants to hug Shiro and love him and be the cause of his first laugh lines. He wants to waste Saturday nights laughing at baby animal videos on the data pad while eating entirely too much mac and cheese. He wants to spend a lifetime laughing at jokes no one but them get, and to be lucky enough to find out what old age will look like on Shiro. 

Shiro, his best friend and the most handsome and kindhearted soul that ever existed, who by some miracle apparently loves Keith back.

It’s too many feelings for one human being to be expected to cope with all at once. Keith isn’t sure he posses the vocabulary to express the depth of his feelings for Shiro and even if he did, he’s not sure he could. He used up all his bravery with that first and only _I love you_ he’d uttered months ago. The prospect of baring his soul by telling Shiro in no uncertain terms that he can’t live without him is fucking terrifying. Keith isn’t scared of much, but he’s scared of losing Shiro—scared of loving Shiro more than Shiro loves him—scared of being too much. Keith’s spent his lifetime being too much. Too loud. Too rowdy. Too defiant. Too headstrong. Too single-minded. Too everything. Too much, and yet somehow not enough for anyone all at once.

Over the years he’d tried to tone himself down, but it never worked. Keith’s always been all or nothing, and fuck does he want to give Shiro his all. He’s pretty sure Shiro knows this, what with Keith being ready to fall to his death just to stay with Shiro and all. It’s pretty fucking telling. But there’s a hell of a difference between suspecting something to be true and giving voice to it with words. Words that could make Shiro’s face fall. Words that could potentially burden or overwhelm Shiro.

The truth is, Keith’s not sure he could come back if it turned out there was ever a part of him that was too much for Shiro. 

Instead of scrambling for words that could never be adequate enough to express his love, or risk the fallout of the brutal honesty he knows would fall from his lips, Keith settles for sliding up Shiro’s body and pressing their lips together. Words are hard, actions are easy.

Keith might not be able to express the ways in which he loves Shiro, but he can sure as fuck try to show him.

Shiro lets out a bone-deep sigh of pleasure at the contact and it soothes the monster in Keith’s chest that screams _love him, protect him._

Kissing is easy. Keith doesn’t need to think too hard about the _how_ or _what_ , he just lets his mouth open as his tongue slides into Shiro’s mouth, and Keith greedily swallows down every tiny noise of pleasure he makes. Keith had never understood what the big deal about kissing was—it was awkward and wet and the idea of tasting someone else was just weird. Then he’d kissed Shiro and understood what all the damn fuss was about. 

Keith isn’t sure if Shiro is just an exceptionally good kisser, or if it’s just because it’s Shiro he’s kissing. All Keith knows is that he could easily spend hours kissing Shiro, rocking against him and grabbing at his hair or chest or arms until his lips hurt and he can’t breathe. 

Shiro tastes amazing, and sometimes Keith likes to suck on his bottom lip or tongue just to listen to the desperate cries he makes. Like now, with the way Shiro’s hardening beneath him. Even half asleep and drowsy, Shiro responds to the way Keith’s lips glide against his, and it makes his own dick harden in record time.

Keith’s so consumed with the tangle of their lips and trying to coax a moan from Shiro, that it takes him a few seconds to realize that the hands on his ass aren’t just copping a feel—Shiro is urging him to move. Keith complies without really thinking about it. His focus is still on the warmth of Shiro’s pretty mouth when it occurs to him that Shiro doesn’t want him to just shift sideways, he’s got something in mind. 

Keith pulls back from the kiss to stare down at Shiro. Even in the dim lighting, it’s easy to see the pretty pink flush across Shiro’s cheeks and the extra plumpness in his kiss-swollen lips. Keith likes to see Shiro wrecked like this, since it’s exactly the way he feels on the inside every goddamn day. 

Loving Shiro is like walking around with his heart outside of his body.

“Baby,” Shiro croons, digging his fingers into the flesh of Keith’s ass and pulling Keith’s body down against him. 

Keith’s not sure what it is he wants, but then Shiro uses his substantial strength to lift up Keith’s hips before dragging them down over the top of his thigh again. Keith watches as a line of precome smears against the light dusting of hair on Shiro’s thigh as realization dawns. 

Tentatively, Keith mimics the movement, rolling his hips so that his dick ribs against Shiro’s thigh. Shiro’s eyes flutter shut, pale eyelashes resting against his cheeks and a sigh falling from his lips.

Fuck. He likes it.

Shiro’s making sounds that Keith could only dream of just because Keith’s rubbing his dick on his leg. This must be what heaven feels like.

Desperate to hear the sound fall from Shiro’s lips again, Keith repeats the action, except this time he increases the pressure as he ruts. Shiro lets out a breathy moan as Keith’s dick rubs against his thigh and Keith’s legs shake as he tries to quell the raging flare of desire at the sight of his rock hard dick sliding against Shiro’s thigh. Shiro’s own dick lays against his hip, erect and leaking. It’s only the knowledge that Keith would have to stop trying to fuck Shiro’s thigh in order to stroke Shiro off that keeps him from trying to get his hands on Shiro’s thick length.

Shiro’s hands inch upwards, settling higher on Keith’s waist and gripping firmly. It’s clear from the clench of his jaw and the way his mouth has fallen open in a silent gasp that he wants more, but he waits for Keith to make the next move. Shiro’s not leading Keith’s anymore, simply following along as Keith ruts again and again, watching Shiro’s muscled thigh tremble.

They haven’t done this before. They haven’t done a lot of things. At least not yet, anyway. Keith might know Shiro’s heart and mind, but the body is new and every single thing they try thrills him to the core. 

There was a time Keith thought maybe he didn’t like sex, since the idea of having it with anyone beside Shiro held exactly zero appeal. Now he spends most days wondering if he’s a sex addict. All it takes is Shiro’s big hand gripping his shoulder, or a boyish smile sent his way, and Keith’s hard as rock in his uniform pants and feeling sixteen years old all over again. 

Objectively, it’s not that surprising that this turns Keith on. It’s Shiro and they’re naked and Keith fucking loves Shiro’s thick thighs—likes the strength in them and the way it feels to have them crushing him as Shiro fucks him slow and deep. He likes the way it feels to dig his hands into them when Keith slips into Shiro’s lap and they rub against each other until they come in their pants. He likes the way they look flexing when Shiro presses him back into the mattress and sinks down on Keith’s dick and rides until until the only thing more raw than Keith’s voice is Shiro’s thighs from the nail marks Keith leaves.

Yet even knowing how much he loves every single part of Shiro’s body, Keith is somehow still surprised to find that just rubbing his dick against one little part of Shiro’s body is enough to turn him into a quivering mess.

“God you’re pretty, baby,” Shiro praises. He loosens his grip on Keith’s waist and takes to stroking his hands up and down the length of Keith’s spine as ruts. Keith’s a mess. His hair is sticking to his forehead, and his face feels splotchy, and he’s out of breathe from using every bit of strength he has to rub himself off on Shiro. He can’t imagine he looks _pretty_. Yet the knowledge that Shiro thinks so sends his heart racing.

It’s ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

Every single thing Shiro does makes Keith feel like he might go crazy with how fucking much he wants him. Every time he thinks he can’t be more attracted to Shiro or fall more in love with him, Shiro goes and does something like that which makes Keith feel wound as tight as a bowstring, ready to snap.

“Look at you,” Shiro whispers, and fuck is he looking. Keith dares to raise his eyes from the hollow of Shiro’s throat up to his face, shivering at the intensity of Shiro’s gaze. There’s no question that every single bit of his attention is focused solely Keith and the way he’s frantically rutting against Shiro’s thigh.

Keith has no idea what to say to that. The temptation to tell Shiro to look away is there, if only because Keith usually doesn't want people to look too hard. But he likes when Shiro looks. He likes the way it feels to be seen.

Keith pauses, body trembling as he hovers above Shiro and lets him look. Really look.

“Oh,” Shiro murmurs, licking his lips. “Good boy.”

Keith inhales sharply at that, hips stuttering almost of their own accord.

“You want me to look at you, baby?” Shiro asks, as if he doesn’t already fucking know the answer to the question.

“Yeah,” Keith chokes out, surprised he manages to get the word out.

“Okay,” Shiro murmurs, dragging his fingertips up the curve of Keith’s spine. “Okay.”

Staying still is nearly impossible. Shiro’s right there, so beautiful and sweet with his perfect smile and perfect body and his leaking dick, and Keith wants to rub himself all over him, wants to kiss him and worship him and make him feel so good. But this is...this is nice too.

Shiro drags his left hand around from Keith’s back to rest it on his chest, and Keith picks up on what he’s doing immediately. It makes his heart thump erratically, faster than it ever has before.

Keith’s not entirely sure how something that makes him feel more scared than falling to his death can feel so good, but it does. Fuck, it does.

“Oh baby, it’s beating so hard. Is that for me?”

“Everything is for you,” Keith chokes out, chest shuddering with the force of his words.

“God, you’re perfect,” Shiro breathes, fingers spreading out across Keith’s chest as his words envelop Keith. Keith doesn’t bother disagreeing with him. He knows that he’s not perfect. Fucking far from it. But the heat that pools in his belly knowing that the crux of who he is pleases Shiro that much is too heady to deny. 

His hand is so big, palm spread wide over the breadth of scarred flesh at Keith’s chest. Keith’s mind flashes back to the first time Shiro’d touched him with that hand, just a clap of the shoulder and an encouraging word. Thinks about the time he’d gripped those same fingers, tightly refusing to let Shiro die alone. There’s a raised scar that starts halfway up Shiro’s middle finger and continues down across the palm of his hand, and Keith can feel the ridges of it against his flushed skin. Shiro increases the pressure of his touch, the pads of his fingers digging in deeper as if focusing on the beat of Keith’s heart, and it’s all Keith can do not to fucking cry.

“Perfect,” Shiro repeats and Keith fucking revels in it, the praise washing over his body and flooding his veins—the echo of Shiro’s love for him evident in the beating of Keith’s heart. 

Shiro doesn’t close his eyes or avert his gaze, eyes remaining on Keith’s face, but his expression goes a bit distant for a moment as he focuses on the rhythm of Keith’s erratic heart. It’s so loud in Keith’s ears he feels as if Shiro must be able to hear it too, must know that every bit of life that resides in his body beats for Shiro.

“It’s erratic,” Shiro whispers, as if he’s surprised.

“You...I—” but Keith bites back the words. He doesn’t know how to say _You make me feel whole. You make my life better. You set my soul aflame. I can’t control myself around you. All my walls keep crumbling when I’m with you._

“Oh,” Shiro exhales, as if he knows anyway. And somehow that’s more revealing than if Keith had said the words himself. The idea that Shiro sees him, can feel the way Keith responds to him, is arousing and thrilling and Keith feels utterly exposed.

“Shiro,” Keith chokes, because it's the only word that comes to mind.

“I’m right here, baby. I’ve got you,” he says. His prosthetic floats around to stroke a soothing line up and down Keith’s back, but Shiro leaves his left hand splayed over Keith’s chest, his eyes never leaving Keith’s face. 

It’s so much to take in—to feel so seen— and Keith’s chest heaves as he inhales deeply through his nose, afraid he might actually pass out. He’s starting to feel a bit lightheaded, and he’s not sure if it’s because of Shiro’s words, or the way Shiro’s thumb is stroking over the top of his ribcage, or the fact that right this very moment Shiro’s sole attention is focused on Keith and the storm thundering inside of him.

Keith remembers the lightning storms in the desert—wild and powerful. His father never said the words, but Keith knew he found beauty in them. Keith would sit huddled on the front porch, sharing a blanket with his dad and a cup of hot cocoa as they watched the spikes of lightning crash into the desert, illuminating the darkness. Keith had thought it was pretty cool, he was a kid and it was lightning, but he’d never seen the beauty. Not the way his dad always had. He thinks maybe he understands it now. There’s something incredible about the way the pressure builds until it can’t be contained anymore, until the thunder tears through the sky demanding to be free.

Keith feels a bit like one of those storms now. There’s a storm raging in his chest—an ache of desire deep inside of him, crackling and building until the pressure is too much. Until it demands to be set free. 

Every beat of his heart like a bolt of lightning. 

Unaware of the tumultuous feelings raging inside of Keith, Shiro lays beneath him and smiles at Keith as if he’s something sweet. As if Keith isn’t a live wire waiting to blow. Shiro still looks a little sleep-dazed, eyes hazy and his expression soft as his gaze roams over Keith’s face. 

Keith’s spent what feels like a lifetime watching Shiro. He knows that for all Shiro’s pep talks and encouragement for other people, he’s pretty shit at expressing his own emotions, so Keith learned what to look for. He knows what Shiro looks like when he’s happy or sad—when he’s full of pride or drowning in his sorrows. Which means that Keith knows exactly what the look on his face now means.

It’s love.

There’s no other explanation for the softness in his express and the tender way he’s caressing Keith as if he’s something precious. Shiro’s expression is full of so much adoration that Keith momentarily forgets how to breathe. 

Something sparks inside of him, something desperate and wild—something aching to break free.

“You’re always so strong, baby. So tough. You take everyone else, me especially, all the time. But I’m strong too, you know. You could let me take care of you too,” Shiro says, as if he’s not breaking Keith with every single word. “ _Let go_ , Keith.”

The sound that comes out of Keith’s mouth is the single most embarrassing sound he’s ever uttered—something between a whimper and a moan. Keith wants to clap his hand over his mouth and never make it again. 

“Fuck, baby, listen to you,” Shiro exclaims, eyes widening. Some of Keith’s embarrassment dwindles at Shiro’s obvious appreciation. “Let me hear you again. Let it out.”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek, ready to say no, then changes his mind. Shiro’s right, it did feel good. In a weird _I feel really fucking vulnerable right now_ kind of way. His lips fall open as he inhales slowly before makes the sound again—chest rattling with the vibration of it. The sound seems louder the second time, louder even than the sound of his heat thundering in his ears. It’s a sob. It’s a cry. It’s a plea. It’s everything he never lets out, and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest at the idea that he’s made it willingly. It beats so hard he can barely breathe, choking on his next inhale of breath as he tries not to pass out.

“Shh,” Shiro soothes, his body rising up off the bed so that he can nuzzle his forehead against Keith’s. “Shh.”

Keith chokes on his air, squeezing his eyes shut. Exposed. He feels so fucking exposed.

Shiro kisses his nose, then each of his closed eyelids and it’s all Keith can do not to let out a sob.

“Your heart is beating so fast, sweetheart. I can’t believe that’s all for me. You want me so much don’t you, baby?”

“Yes,” Keith utters, voice barely above a whisper. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes, squeezing them shut even tighter instead as he speaks. “So much. All the time. So fucking much.”

“Oh baby, you’re so good,” Shiro says, placing a kiss in the center of Keith’s forehead. “So good for me. You make me feel so good all the time. I wanna make you feel good too.” 

Keith’s jaw quivers as he blinks away the moisture threatening to leak at the corner of his eyes. 

“You do,” he sobs, crashing his lips against Shiro’s and crushing Shiro’s hand between their bodies. 

“Baby,” Shiro groans against his lips, his prosthetic skimming up Keith’s back to cradle the back of his head. “Tell me what you want. _Please_. I want to give you what you want.”

Keith keens. 

Shiro never begs. Ever. He’s so controlled all the time and the idea that wanting to please Keith has driven him to desperation makes something wild rise up in Keith—clawing its way out of his chest in the form of a guttural moan.

He can’t bring himself to say the words, but he can show him.

With trembling fingers Keith taps his chest, over Shiro’s palm that still rests there.

“You want me to leave my hand here?” Shiro asks.

Keith shakes his head.

“Then what do you want, baby? I’ll give you anything,” Shiro says, and there’s a quiver in his voice. “Please, baby.”

Keith pulls both of his lips between his teeth and bites down hard enough to draw blood. It hurts, but not as much as the ache in his chest. He wants. He wants so much and he doesn’t know how to say it.

As if sensing his struggle, Shiro lifts his hand from Keith’s chest to stroke the sweaty bits of hair from his forehead. He doesn’t ask again, giving Keith the space to think as he repeats the action. Keith closes his eyes, leaning into the touch and trying to remember how to breathe.

It’s only Shiro, he reminds himself. If he can’t do this with Shiro, there’s no one in the world he can do this with.

He reaches up taps his chest again, but when Shiro moves to place his palm over Keith’s heart, Keith shakes his head from side to side. With what he hopes is enough purpose he eyes Shiro’s other arm, or where his other arm would be if the prosthetic wasn’t currently hovering somewhere behind him rubbing circles on his lower back.

“Oh, you want me to touch you with the other one.”

It’s more of a statement than a question, but Keith knows Shiro will want to be sure. It takes every ounce of courage Keith posses to nod in agreement.

“Okay, I can do that,” Shiro murmurs, his prosthetic floating around to rest against at the center of Keith’s chest directly over his heart. 

The metal is colder than Shiro’s human hand, but his touch is just as gentle. Shiro’s always gentle with Keith. It makes him feel fragile in a way that makes him feel strong.

“Your heart is beating so fast, baby.”

Not trusting himself to speak, Keith nods. 

“Is this all you wanted, or is there maybe something more?” Shiro asks sweetly, tapping his metal fingers against Keith’s sternum. Shiro’s left hand is back at Keith’s hip, and there’s a noticeable tremble in it as he possibly digs the fingers into the flesh. 

“More,” Keith whispers. 

“More,” Shiro echoes, the rise and fall of his chest rapidly increasing. If Keith focuses hard enough, he swears he can see the pulse point in Shiro’s neck fluttering. 

Shiro’s voice might be steady, but his body has given him away. It's reassuring to know he’s not the only one on the cusp of losing control. It gives Keith the confidence to utter his next few words.

“There’s a setting on your prosthetic that monitors heartbeats,” Keith says, surprised at how calm he sounds when he feels as if he might actually implode. He wraps his fingers around the metal of Shiro’s palm, pushing it down towards the left, stopping when it’s just over his ribcage so that the sensors in the palm of Shiro’s prosthetic rests over his apex and not directly over the bones in his sternum. The beat will be louder there, easier to transmute. Assuming Shiro agrees to do it. 

“He’s lost track of the number of times he’s fantasized about Shiro using that particular sensitivity setting on him —lost track of how many times he’s pictured that big hand curling around the side of his neck to cover his pulse point, or pressing over his heart, listening to it beat for him. Ever since he heard Allura explaining the additional capabilities that had been added in the upgrade a few weeks ago. He’s still not entirely sure why Allura thought that particular ability was vital to increased functionality for Shiro’s new prosthetic but whatever she had in mind during her design phase, Keith was pretty sure it wasn’t _this_.”

“Oh,” Shiro exhales, pink rising high on his cheeks. 

Keith’s not sure what to make of Shiro’s reaction. He can’t tell if it’s an _oh, this is awkward and not what I’m into, how can I let you down?_ or _oh, maybe I could try this_ or any other number of possibilities in between. Keith’s natural inclination is never to be full of positivity and sunshine the way Shiro’s is, and worst case scenarios flood his mind. The only thing that staves off the panic is the thought that after everything they’ve been through, Keith wanting something atypical in bed isn’t likely to be something that could tear them apart.

At least, he doesn’t think so. 

Keith’s never wanted to test fate and find out if the things he wants are too much for Shiro, thought he could spend the rest of his life ignoring the quiet voice in his heart—the one that rattles against his ribcage desperate to be let out. Desperate to be seen. But he was wrong. Shiro’s looking and Keith never wants him to stop.

Now that he’s let it out, he doesn’t think he can take it back—doesn’t _want_ to.

Desire rages inside of Keith, swirling and crackling with fury—ready to make landfall. The only thing left to be seen is if Shiro’s going to find beauty in his storm, or get burned.

Thankfully ,Keith is saved from the tumultuous emotions swirling inside of him by Shiro reaching out to fidget with the settings on the inside of his wrist. Keith’s brain short-circuits, vision momentarily blurring and eyes ringing.

One moment the room is silent except for his own labored breathing, and the next second the sound of Keith’s heart loudly beating fills the room.

It occurs to Keith then that outside of the way it sounds thundering in his own ears when it beats too hard, he’s never actually heard it for himself. He’s used to listening to Shiro’s, but not his own.

It thump thumps forcefully, the beat strong but swift and erratic. There’s something hypnotic in the rhythm, primal in the sound of his own life force echoing in the room. Shiro apparently feels the same, at least a little bit.

“Wow,” Shiro murmurs, awe evident in his tone as the beat thuds. 

It makes Keith shudder to see Shiro’s reaction. To bear witness to Shiro’s sharp inhale of breath and the way his prosthetic vibrates against Keith’s ribcage. A tiny sound falls from Shiro’s lips—barely audible above the pounding of his own heart that now fills the room—but Keith picks up on it just the same.

“Oh baby,” Shiro whispers, and this time the quiver in his voice matches the one in his hand.

Shiro is affected, and Keith is undone.

Keith’s tenuous grasp of control has reached its limit, and he snaps as a raw, desperate sound is ripped from his throat. The hand on Keith’s hip tightens as he begins to rock his hips against Shiro’s thighs once more without a shred of self-consciousness left.

There’s no more toeing the line. The line has been fucking obliterated.

“Shit, baby. You sound incredible,” Shiro praises, and Keith digs his nails into the sheets hard enough to tear them as his dick slides against Shiro’s thigh. 

It’s so much. Almost too much. The sound of his pulsating heart is louder than his own breathing, louder even than the filthy sound of Keith’s now leaking dick sliding against Shiro’s muscled thigh.

Keith’s heart palpitates and he nearly forgets to keep breathing. It’s insane for him to not only be able to feel his heart literally skip a beat but _hear_ it as well. It’s even more insane to know that this thing he’s been longing for—this monstrous desire inside of him—apparently isn’t so monstrous.

“Wow, it skipped a beat,” Shiro observes, equal parts fascinated and excited. Keith would laugh that Shiro is nerding out in the middle of sex, but he’s too relieved Shiro likes it and too turned on by his reaction to do more rut against him desperately.

“Oh fuck, now it got louder. You like when I notice what it does,” Shiro says, as if the knowledge has just occurred to him.

Keith nearly screams, can’t even bring himself to put into words the emotions raging inside of him. He feels ripped open and exposed, feels laid bare and seen. Feels so aroused his dick actually hurts.

He feels fucking crazy.

 _Thump thump_ goes the erratic beat of his hard. Loud and whooshing. 

“Just listen to you,” Shiro says, his grip on Keith so tight now it’s going to leave a mark. It soothes Keith’s nerves to know there will be some proof that this moment happened, that he didn’t dream it all. “You like me listening to you? Like when I can hear how much you want me?”

Keith lifts his right hand then promptly slams it back against the mattress. His face is aflame, cheeks burning and his entire body flushed. There’s a tremble in his very soul that only Shiro can soothe.

He can’t speak to answer Shiro, can’t do anything but choke on air as he struggles to breathe. His hips stutter, legs shaking as he ruts against Shiro like a wild animal. 

_Thump thump._

He’s close. So close. He’s not ready for this to end, but he can’t stave off the rising arousal building. He can feel it working its way up his spine as he teeters on the edge of his impending release. 

The beat picks up, erratic and wild like a desert storm. The perfect storm.

“Oh, you’re close,” Shiro breathes, loosening the grip on Keith’s hip. Keith’s heart flutters rapidly like a butterfly who’s trapped in a jar. Except Keith doesn’t feel trapped. He feels free. “Come on baby, let me hear what it sounds like when you come. Bet it’s so pretty. You’re such a good boy, you’ll let me hear, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Keith sobs, throat raw.

He would give Shiro anything. Everything.

Every single bit of Keith’s heart and soul feels stripped raw laid bare, and apparently Shiro likes it. Loves it even, if the softening expression on his face is any indication. 

The thrum of his heart is rhythmic, cosmic even, and Keith is broken by it. He can’t focus on anything except the slide of his dick against Shiro’s body, arousal building until it reaches a crescendo and breaks free.

There’s no more steady thump to his heart, the rhythm frantic and jagged as Keith’s release is ripped from his body, coating Shiro’s thigh and hip in streaks of white.

There’s unmistakable awe and adoration on Shiro’s face, and his expression is so full of love that Keith can barely breathe. The echo of his pounding heart is too loud, his nerves raw, and his body strung out. He drops down onto Shiro’s chest as he rides out his orgasm, entire body trembling as he rocks his hips as he buries his face in Shiro’s neck. 

“Shh,” Shiro hums, prosthetic wiggling out from where it’s trapped between their bodies. It joins his left hand in stroking up and down Keith’s back, fingers dragging along the curve of his spine. Keith can do nothing but grunt, digging his nose into the juncture of Shiro’s shoulder and trying to steady his breathing.

The strokes stop for a moment, and the sound of Keith’s heartbeat disappears. The contrast is startling and Keith shivers at the stark silence.

“Shh,” Shiro soothes again, hands on Keith’s shoulders as he pushes gently, urging him to move. 

Keith lets himself be manhandled, still emotionally wound up but physically spent. Shiro’s gentle as he shifts Keith, fixing him in the center of Shiro’s chest. 

_Oh._ Oh, that’s nice.

The rhythm of the pulse is a balm to Keith’s frazzled nerves, smoothing down the fraying edges as his own heartbeat settles into something more stable.

His heartbeat is so different than Keith’s—reassuringly slow and steady.

All the while Shiro hums, the vibrations in his chest as soothing as the booming thud of his heartbeat. It’s not until a few minutes later when Keith’s limbs have stopped trembling and he’s caught his breath, that it occurs to him in all of his haze of arousal he’d neglected to touch Shiro.

His head flies up, eyes wide with guilt at being so selfish. Fuck.

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asks, hands still soothing over Keith’s flushed skin. He’s so good. So fucking good. 

“I uh…” Kerith pauses, blowing out a breath as a new surge of embarrassment assaults him. _I was so turned on by you listening to my heartbeat that I rutted against your thigh until I came and forgot to touch you_ does not seem like something he is capable of vocalizing right then., “You didn’t come.”

“Oh, that,” Shiro mumbles. He licks his lips, eyes riveted to Keith’s face as color blossoms high on the arch of his cheekbones. “I um, yes. Yes, I did.”

“You—oh.”

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers, color deepening. It’s adorable how confident Shiro can be during sex, full of praise and filthy words, but goes back to being bashful about it all the second they’re done. Then again, Keith’s one to talk. He knows all too well the type of euphoria that comes from sex with someone you trust—the way you can reveal the parts of yourself that you often keep hidden.

“So you uh...you liked it too?” Keith asks, mustering some bravery.

Shiro laughs, chest rumbling as he reaches up to scrub a hand across his face. He looks a little embarrassed, which is really fucking sweet. “Yeah, baby. I liked it a lot.”

“You liked it so much you came without me touching you,” Keith says, his own bashfulness receding. Pride swells in his chest at the knowledge. He’s never made Shiro come untouched. Fuck that’s hot.

“Shut up,” Shiro groans, burying his face behind his hands. There’s a flush of pink spreading down the side of his neck, and empathy burns a hole in Keith’s stomach.

“Oh, Shiro,” Keith whispers, peeling back the fingers that cover Shiro’s face. “I’m not making fun.”

Shiro still looks a bit disbelieving, and embarrassed, but he lets Keith pry the rest of his fingers off his face so he’s no longer hiding. Keith had been so caught up in his own vulnerabilities, it’d never occurred to him Shiro might have his own.

“Just...you almost died, Keith. So many times. You were ready to die for me and now,” Shiro swallows, the lines of his jaw clenched. When he speaks, his voice cracks. “Your heartbeat is so strong, baby. And it was for me and I—” he breaks off, a quiver in his jaw. He inhales deeply through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I know,” Keith whispers, leaning down to rest his forehead against Shiro’s. He closes his eyes, bumping his nose against Shiro’s and pressing the barest of kisses to the corner of his mouth. “I know.”

“If anything ever happened to you I couldn’t—”

“Hey, nothing is gonna happen to me,” Keith interrupts, hands on Shiro’s face.

“I love you, baby,” Shiro croaks, wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist and burying his face in Keith’s neck. He inhales deeply, no sign of letting go. Keith doesn’t want him to.

“Me too,” Keith whispers. “So fucking much, Shiro. So fucking much.”

It occurs to him then that perhaps he’s not the only one that’s been holding things back—not the only one afraid.

Keith lets his body go lax, winding himself around Shiro as he rests his cheek against his head as his heartbeat evens out—the tempo falling in line with Shiro’s.

Soon they’ll need to get, to shower and clean up their mess and face the day. For now though, this is enough. Keith is Shiro’s and he is his and that’s all that matters.

The calm after the storm.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about Sheith with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813).


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